<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>00:00 by MomoGeraldine</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531977">00:00</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomoGeraldine/pseuds/MomoGeraldine'>MomoGeraldine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eric Cartman Being Eric Cartman, Gen, Implied Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, It's just Stan, Kyle Broflovski &amp; Stan Marsh Friendship, M/M, My First South Park Fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:42:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomoGeraldine/pseuds/MomoGeraldine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re coming with me.”</p><p>States the larger man after a while.</p><p>“I’m what?”</p><p>“You heard me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Broflovski &amp; Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh &amp; Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh &amp; Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>00:00</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was new years day, six hours before the big celebration. Stan had been sleeping the whole morning away. He also had spent hours on the phone, once he had woken up. He only now had started searching for breakfast. Breakfast being whatever he could find in the fridge.</p><p> </p><p>The fridge didn’t have much food in it because he had forgotten shopping and it was too late for that now. Too many people were doing their last year’s shopping and Stan didn’t want to be anywhere close to people.</p><p> </p><p>He had been invited to at least three celebrations, he had said no to all of them. Deciding to spent new year’s celebration alone. He had a whole year for socializing, none of the time for himself. To enjoy himself. A day without stress, expectations, and depressing thoughts. He dreamed about it, yet he wasn’t much of a planner. So now he had too much alcohol and not much food.</p><p> </p><p>He finally decided to shower, then make breakfast with a more fresh feeling.</p><p> </p><p>He enjoyed the warm water, there was something refreshing when showering after waking up. The way warm water was in such contrast to cold outside. He loved it. Until he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He had used all the warm water, now it was cold. He had finally awakened from his haze. He could only sigh before putting on fresher clothes and deal with his breakfast problem.</p><p> </p><p>In the fridge, he could scavenge out a few eggs and two sausages. Scrambled eggs it was then. The man thought to himself.</p><p> </p><p>As he made scrambled eggs, he listened to the way eggs sizzled on the pan. No other voices could be heard. No Shelly’s bullying, no dad’s drunk party, and no mom’s sheer disappointment about dad, no such voices were heard. No fighting.</p><p> </p><p>He disliked drunk party voices most, some of them still pounded in his head. Too many voices. The simple idea of it was already hated.</p><p> </p><p>No stressful presence, just Stan in an apartment, making breakfast. It was a welcomed change.</p><p> </p><p>Once he finished making scrambled eggs, he decided to search up his laptop. </p><p> </p><p>Once he also managed that, he decided to eat scrambled eggs, drink a beer and watch <em> Pulp Fiction </em> on Netflix. Most of his hours had gone to the laptop, either on a movie or on a random animal video. It was very addictive, he was okay with it.</p><p> </p><p>He managed to get drunk because alcohol needed to go, so it would be even with food. </p><p> </p><p>So drinking alcohol, watching whatever he was on his laptop, he ignored the fireworks outside indicating a year’s end. A new year. </p><p> </p><p>He ignored the buzzing of his phone. He had put it on vibration, he doesn’t know why he simply didn’t put it fully soundless. The buzzing was annoying. It buzzed in the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>It was annoying. It pounded in his head. He wanted it to end.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly somebody knocked on his door. He didn’t expect anybody. He really didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>So he goes to open his door, as gracefully as you can with hours of beer drinking.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t expected anybody. He hadn’t expected him of all people. Somehow it was probably logical that it would be him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sup’ hippie”</p><p> </p><p>In all of his glory stood Cartman, just Cartman. Nobody else.</p><p> </p><p>“You gonna let me in or you gonna gawk? I have better things to do than stand in your doorway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh..oh, yeah, sure”</p><p> </p><p>He was confused, really confused. As he let the larger man in, he finally noticed the other had come with a bag. What was going on?</p><p> </p><p>The larger man simply stood in his little apartment, knowing him, he was judging.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>Stan slurred out his question.</p><p> </p><p>“You live in a really shitty apartment.”</p><p> </p><p>The other stated, ignoring the question. Cartman then decided to make his way to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Great.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t answer the question”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman only gave him the silent treatment, judging his fridge. He could feel his disappointment? Really, the dude’s an asshole.</p><p> </p><p>The phone still buzzed.</p><p> </p><p>He was confused and annoyed. </p><p> </p><p>He really should crack the phone.</p><p> </p><p>He can live without a phone. Really, he can.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly he was handed that monstrosity. The silent command was clear.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Do something with it, it’s annoying. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His brain decided to shut down, exactly at that moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm…”</p><p> </p><p>He knew multiple ways to shut down that monstrosity, however, none of them registered in his brain.</p><p> </p><p>The other only glared at him, then he went to texting.</p><p> </p><p>The larger of the two then sighed and said:</p><p> </p><p>“Shut it down, member’ how to do that?”</p><p> </p><p>Stan tried, he really tried but his hands weren’t cooperating. Why didn’t they cooperate?</p><p> </p><p>He was hyperaware of what was going around him, he heard the fireworks, he heard Cartman putting things into his fridge. He heard the show he forgot to pause it. He heard the distant laughter in the hallways and on the outside. The phone didn’t stop buzzing. Why didn’t it stop buzzing? Stop buzzing.<em> Stop. Stop. Stop. </em></p><p> </p><p>He had a hard time breathing. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the phone was gone, he didn’t notice it until all he heard was heart. It was rhythmic. It was calm. He missed his mother.</p><p> </p><p>He opened his eyes, he hadn’t even noticed he had closed them.</p><p> </p><p>Cartman was hugging him. They were next to non-existent unless you were Kyle.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t die now.”</p><p> </p><p>He mumbled, Stan had a hard time understanding it.</p><p> </p><p>He tried to get his breathing even.</p><p> </p><p>In.</p><p> </p><p>Out.</p><p> </p><p>In.</p><p> </p><p>Out.</p><p> </p><p>In.</p><p> </p><p>Out.</p><p> </p><p>In.</p><p> </p><p>Out.</p><p> </p><p>Better? He hoped so.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure what make of this predicament. The phone had stopped buzzing though.</p><p> </p><p>“Jew is not gonna like this.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like when warm water stops and cold water comes, Stan suddenly jolted awake. Sober enough to understand something. Headache also was slowly coming.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here? Why the fuck are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm your tits, hippie, Kahl wanted to check up on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“He couldn’t do it himself?”</p><p> </p><p>Stan gritted out. He really hated it.</p><p> </p><p>They’d been best friends until the graduation after that? It has been confusing.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle had been busy, they’d been slowly drifted apart. He had really tried. Failed meet-ups, up until he had invited him to a party, new year’s party. Stan had been tired when he got the invitation, maybe out of pettiness? He had denied the invitation.</p><p> </p><p>Nobody had said about some sixth sense, in hindsight, with all the bullshit they both put up with or had put up with daily, probably heightened it. Kyle was less prone to ignore it than Stan.</p><p> </p><p>Still didn’t explain why Cartman was here.</p><p> </p><p>“He had a family business to deal with, Sheila’s been a bitch about the party, something you’d known about it if you had called.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan only lays down on the floor, wondering when would be the appropriate time to die.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to ask questions but at the same time, he doesn’t want to. Being dead would be so much easier. So much easier. Much more silent.</p><p> </p><p>“Seeing as you’re not gonna talk, I’m gonna do it.”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman decides.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been avoiding us, Kahl’s angry, let’s see what else...Ah, you live in a shitty apartment, it stinks, and pretty sure I saw cockroaches somewhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“You came here just to judge me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Somebody has to.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s too tired to think about it.</p><p> </p><p>“I just wanted a nice, calming day.”</p><p> </p><p>“In this shithole?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up”</p><p> </p><p>Stan replies, weakly. Can’t he celebrate things silently? Is it too much to ask? Apparently, it is. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re coming with me.”</p><p> </p><p>States the larger man after a while.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m what?”</p><p> </p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p> </p><p>No further explanation was given. Because who needs them? Definitely not Stan.</p><p> </p><p>And Stan was too tired to deal with it. So he decided to sleep. On the floor. Let the future Stan deal with it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Opinions &amp; criticism are welcome.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>